


Unicorn Hunter

by Dee_Laundry



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Chris and Robin, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-09
Updated: 2008-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 11:34:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Munchkins, unicorns, and princesses, oh my.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unicorn Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Future fic. Can be read as stand-alone, although it's technically a sequel to [The One Where It All Ends](http://deelaundry.livejournal.com/95652.html)

Two steps in the door House was assaulted by a girl munchkin in a pith helmet and a purple ball gown. “Are you a unicorn?” she asked, tilting her head back to look into his face while maintaining her deathgrip on his knees.

“Not so far as I know,” House replied.

The deathgrip dropped away immediately. “Oh,” the munchkin said in dismissive disappointment. “Then I have to go. I’m the world’s most famous unicorn hunter princess queen and I have lots more unicorns to catch.”

“It’s a busy life,” House said in commiseration. Chris adjusted her pith helmet, nodded regally, and took off up the stairs.

Shaking his head, House continued through the foyer. Living room: empty. Dining room: empty.

“Wilson!”

“In the kitchen!” came the faint reply and House thought, _of course_.

Thundering footsteps heralded the arrival of boy munchkin, who scooted past House just as he arrived in the doorway of the kitchen. Robin clambered up a barstool and sat, hands folded precisely on the granite of the breakfast bar. “Hi, Uncle Greg.”

“Hello there.” House took the seat two down from the boy’s and looked him over. Messy hair, broad smile, warm brown eyes that blinked slowly.

 _Hm_ , House thought. “Wilson.”

Wilson was poking around in the refrigerator, and barely managed a, “Yes?”

“Your son is wearing glitter eye shadow.”

Robin thrust his hands in House’s direction, fingers spread wide. “And nail polish!”

Laying an armful of foodstuffs on the kitchen island, Wilson said, “Well, you can’t be a sparkle fairy princess without glitter,” as if that concluded the matter.

Before House could pursue his questioning, Robin piped up, “Can I have juice, please?”

“Just a little bit,” Wilson clucked, and turned back toward the refrigerator. “We’re having dinner soon, and I don’t want you to spoil your appetite.”

It had to be confirmed: “Robin is still a boy, right?”

“Yes,” Wilson replied, glaring and fetching and pouring all at the same time.

When the cutesy Mickey Mouse glass was set in front of him, the munchkin’s arms crossed in defiance. “I don’t want apple juice; I want mango.”

“We’re out of mango. The apple’s just as good.” Back to the refrigerator a third time Wilson went, and _finally_ he emerged with a beer for House. House’d been getting parched.

“No, it isn’t!” Robin protested. “I want mango!”

Wilson bent over the island, getting his eyes level with the flashing eyes of the munchkin. “Hey, we don’t speak like that,” he said sternly. “And sparkle fairy princesses are supposed to spread happiness, not pouting.”

Robin relented a fraction, sipping the juice – _wuss_ , House thought – and Wilson’s smile re-emerged. “If it helps,” Wilson said, “I’ve got some good news.”

“What?” the boy asked, curiosity seeming to win out over petulance.

Straightening, Wilson beamed down at his son. “We’re having bean salad with dinner.”

“Yay!” Robin bounced once and then slithered down off the stool. “I’m going to tell Chris!”

House rolled his eyes and shifted to pull his leg up on the vacated seat. “You have the only four-year-olds in the world who think bean salad is a treat.”

“Wait, wait, young man!” Wilson called after the escaping munchkin, whom, House had just noticed, was clad only in underwear. “Where’s your tutu?”

The boy fidgeted in the doorway. “It was itchy; I took it off.”

“Put some shorts on instead, then. We don’t walk around without pants.”

“I don’t have any pink ones!” Robin protested. “Sparkle fairy princesses only wear pink!”

“Ask your sister to lend you some.” As Robin thundered away, Wilson’s voice rose in volume. “Twenty minutes and then it’s time to clean up!”

There was silence in the kitchen for a few long moments, broken only by the faint sounds of inoffensive adult alternative coming from a radio tucked in the corner and by the shuffle and clunks of Wilson preparing dinner.

“So,” House said when his beer was half-gone and he felt able to broach the subject, “why exactly is your _son_ , who is _male_ , a sparkle fairy princess?”

“Because my _daughter_ , who is _female_ , was Batman yesterday,” Wilson replied blithely, and began unloading the dishwasher.

“That makes perfect sense. Uh huh. Yep.”

“They trade off who gets to pick the adventure to have.” Wilson had an inordinate number of plastic dishes, House noticed. It shouldn’t have been surprising, but it was somehow. “They’re exploring the various aspects of their personalities through different types of fantasy roles. It’s safe and healthy.”

“It’s not going to be safe _or_ healthy when Robin gets his ass kicked at preschool.”

Wilson rolled his eyes. “It’s preschool, not a military academy.”

“Kids can be cruel to those who are different.” As House’s hands tightened around his beer bottle, he felt the smooth coolness of glass under his right palm and a crinkle in the label under his left pinkie.

“They can also be incredibly kind, if adults get the hell out of their way.” Wilson was suddenly bustling everywhere: island, oven, sink, fridge. House thought about the ring in his pocket, about the question he was too chickenshit to ask.

“I don’t let them wear costumes out of the house,” Wilson assured him, as the sparkle fairy princess and the unicorn hunter princess queen trooped back into the kitchen.

Wrapping herself around Wilson’s right leg, Chris announced, “Eleventeen unicorns today, Daddy!”

“Excellent,” he replied, voice tinged with the proper amount of awe. Robin leaned against Wilson’s left hip and drifted into a smile as Wilson’s hand stroked his hair.

“I _thought_ I would get twelveteen,” Chris continued, “but Uncle Greg said he isn’t a unicorn.”

House leaned to the left a hair and poked the munchkin gently with his cane. “The thing about unicorns,” he said, “is that they’re sneaky. You can’t always trust that they’ll reveal themselves when asked.”

“Ohhh,” she said, eyes opening wide. She let go of her father and ran over to House. “Up,” she ordered, and House helped her into his lap.

The arms around his neck were short but strong. “I got twelveteen, don’t I?” she whispered in his ear.

“Yes,” House replied, as the Wilson boys, big and small, smiled at him.

“We’re having bean salad with dinner,” Chris said, putting her head on his shoulder.

House nodded. “So I heard.”


End file.
